


you've gotta be kidding me

by emotionalpanda, queenC_13



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: (seriously. trust us. you need this in your life), Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Romantic Comedy, in a collab you also never knew you needed!, the jen/perez rom-com you never knew you needed!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalpanda/pseuds/emotionalpanda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenC_13/pseuds/queenC_13
Summary: au where perez isn’t a cop she’s just a random person who keeps running into jen at bad momentsor: 5 times jen ruins perez's day, and one time she makes it better
Relationships: Jen Harding/Ana Perez
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	you've gotta be kidding me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagunabitchgc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunabitchgc/gifts).



> so this idea was borne out of the genius that is emotionalpanda and then turned into a collab with queenc_13 and bluebluebaby as our #1 supporter 
> 
> enjoy!

**ONE**

It’s an annoying day: the sun’s too bright and the birds are screeching their song like a church choir out of tune. Perfect day to jog out her mid-afternoon rage, Jen decides.

Jen quickly falls into a steady rhythm. It’s hot as balls out and sweat’s dripping from all kinds of places (yes, even _that_ one). She’s about to give up and head back to the house when she sees it—a mirage of curls in this cursed suburban desert, a beautiful jogger in front of her. 

Holy shit. 

The sight of this woman’s ass puts Jen in a trance and she finds herself picking up speed to keep up with the view. 

Who is this woman? Is she new to the neighborhood? What is her squat routine?

Jen sinks into the thoughts of those thighs in leggings, stretchy material clinging to those curves. Before she can register that the woman has stopped jogging, Jen crashes right into her. _Well, that’s one way to introduce herself…_

They both groan at the same time and the sound reminds Jen of a bad porno. 

Jen, embarrassed that her hands are nearly groping this woman’s boobs, falls back into grouchiness to cover up the growing flush in her cheeks. 

“Why the fuck did you stop running out of nowhere?” Jen asks, out of breath from her ass inspired sprinting. 

The woman underneath Jen looks up at her with a blank expression, then replies in monotone, “I believe it’s called taking a break.” 

They’re still on top of each other, both uncomfortably sweaty and tangled together, when Karen happens to drive by in her bright green Mini Cooper. 

Karen honks the horn and rolls down her window with an all too cheery wave. 

_Really, Karen? You think now’s the best time for chit-chat? Move the fuck along._

Karen’s beaming at them, smug, like she just figured out an inside joke. “Hey!” 

Jen turns her full gaze towards Karen. She’s almost grateful for Karen’s interruption (the mystery woman has really pretty brown eyes and maybe Jen had been staring into them). 

Karen gives them a thumbs up from her car and says, “I see you’re branching out into more public stuff!” Karen winks, “Good for you!” 

“That’s not what it…” Jen starts.

Karen interrupts, pulling a camera out of her car and holding it up, “If you need anyone to film, I have this really cool fish eye lens! Just let me kn—“

“No thank you! Goodbye!” The other woman responds. Luckily, Karen takes the hint and drives off. 

“Why are you still on top of me.” 

“Oh fuck, yeah, sorry,” Jen says, as she finally brings herself to her feet. “Bad back,” Jen gestures to herself, “Once I’m horizontal, it’s, y’know, hard to get back upright.” 

The other woman looks Jen up and down. She’s still on the ground, but she’s sitting up.

“Sure.” 

Jen waits for the woman to get up. She doesn’t. 

Jen offers a hand. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

The woman stares at her hand. She stares for so long that Jen starts to worry that her hand has turned into a tentacle or a foot without her knowing. _Seriously, what is this woman’s deal?_

Jen’s offered hand drops back to her side. This is what she gets for trying to be nice.

“Fine! Suit yourself. Have a great fucking day.” 

Tomorrow, she’ll just stick to the Peloton.

* * *

**TWO**

Perez reaches for the last can of soup—fire roasted tomato, perfect for the garlic rosemary focaccia she’ll be making later, when suddenly the can vanishes with the swipe of a hand. She recognizes that hand. Oh no. It can’t be… She looks from the hand up into the face of the woman who ran her over on the street a few days ago. 

Of fucking course.

“Excuse me, but that soup was mine.”

The woman scoffs. “Well seeing as how I’m the one holding it, I think you’re mistaken.”

“I _need_ that soup.”

“There’s a million other tomato soups here—go nuts.”

Perez inhales sharply through her nose, trying to practice the bullshit calming mantra she definitely didn’t learn from her hippie ex. 

“You don’t understand, I need that specific soup.”

“No _you_ don’t understand, lady. My son eats only one kind of soup, and this is it. So unless you want to go home with him and explain why he doesn’t get dinner, I am taking this soup.” The woman moves closer to Perez as she talks, the scent of jasmine and a hint of cigarette smoke wafting towards her. Her eyes are just as captivating as her hands, and it takes a moment for her words to catch up to Perez.

“Okay first of all, don’t call me lady.” The woman rolls her eyes in response, and Perez is pretty sure she wants to strangle her. “Second of all, what am I supposed to do now? Roast my own tomatoes?”

“You seem like you’d be good with a grill, fucking figure it out!” The woman’s hand flies up in the air, fingers stretched out in a dismissive gesture more dramatic than any grocery store exchange needs to be.

Perez glares at the woman and wishes she could shoot laser beams from her eyes. She sighs and reaches for a can of bland tomato (4 for $5) when a little boy walks up to them.

“Mom, did you get my soup?” He says to the blonde before noticing Perez standing there and giving her a hesitant but shining smile. Hasn’t anyone told him not to smile at strangers? “Hey, you two match!” he says, breaking Perez out of those thoughts.

She takes in the other woman’s outfit for the first time, noticing that they’re both in the same fitted black blazer with a crisp white button down tucked into their dark wash jeans.

Oh Christ.

“I had it on first,” the other woman mutters, too petulantly for a mother, in Perez’s opinion.

“Who do you think you are, the blazer police? I had fucking Kohls cash to spend and it was going to expire.” And with that, Perez spins around and storms towards the cash registers with her cheap, bland fucking soup.

She better not see this woman again.

* * *

**THREE**

Jen glances down to her phone quickly to see the text that she’s just received from Judy: 

**I know this sounds crazy, but we’re out of bay leaves**

**Can you pick some up on your way home?**

She sighs, watching the traffic in front of her before pressing the microphone to talk-text back. “Yeah, I’ll be home within the hour,” she says, then takes her thumb off the button and mutters to herself, “I can’t believe this is my fucking life” when she hears the chime signifying that Judy has already responded. 

**Thanks, you’re the best! Drive safe 💜**

And of course as soon as she glances down again to read that, she looks back up to see brake lights in front of her as traffic comes to a stop.

She braces herself and slams on her own brakes as the hood of her car collides into the station wagon in front of her, smashing out the right tail light.

“Fuck!”

She sees the hands of the driver in front of her go up in anger as the car pulls off to the side of the road, with Jen pulling up behind, ignoring the honks of the people speeding past them. She leans over to get her insurance card from her glove box and then reaches into her purse to pull out her wallet and get her license as well. It’s only as she’s exiting her car that she looks back up to see the person she hit getting out of their own car and notices an unforgettable mane of perfect curls.

 _Oh no_. 

Does the universe just have some sort of sick vendetta against her? Is that what this is?

Judy would probably say it’s ‘fate’ or ‘karma’ or some other bullshit, but frankly, Jen is just annoyed. Why can’t she stop running into this super hot but kind of scary lesbian in the worst way possible? 

And clearly the woman feels the same, because her expression turns murderous as she locks eyes with Jen, painful recognition crossing her face. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hears the woman mutter, looking up to the sky.

Jen gets it, but they still have to deal with this.

“So…” she says awkwardly, walking up to stand next to the woman as traffic continues blaring around them. “Fancy seeing you here.”

The woman glares at her, mouth drawn into a tight line.

“Alright, well, usually the procedure is to call the cops-”

“Fuck the cops,” the woman interrupts. “I would rather deal with this between the two of us.”

And maybe the assertive tone she uses to say it is making Jen feel something low in her belly, but now is not the time to dwell on that. She nods in response, instead, and hands over her license.

“Jennifer Harding,” the woman says. “Nice to have a name for the face that keeps ruining my day.”

Jen smiles sarcastically and gestures her hand towards the woman. “And the woman who keeps interfering with _my_ day is…?”

“Ana. Perez,” she says shortly. “Do _not_ call me Ana.”

“Got it,” Jen quips. “So how do you want to do this, Perez?” she draws out the name. “Have my insurance contact yours? Or you can just tell me what the damage is worth and we can try to work it out between the two of us; try not to skyrocket our premiums.”

Perez walks around to the back of her car (which of _course_ is a Subaru outback—as if there was any doubt about her being a lesbian. And is that a bike rack? Dammit, why can’t Jen get other thoughts of this woman out of her head now—)

“My insurance doesn’t cover traffic accidents,” Perez sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as if warding off a tension headache.

(And Jen is certainly _not_ thinking about ways she could help the woman relieve the tension.)

“For some reason they think vandalism is much more likely to happen than an idiot woman crashing into me while texting.”

“Hey!” Jen protests. “I’m not—”

“It’s fine,” Perez continues, ignoring the outburst. “I’ll just deal with it myself.”

“I can write you a check,” Jen pushes, rolling her eyes when Perez shakes her head. Why won’t this woman just take her fucking money? “Besides, the insurance company _knows_ you’re less likely to be vandalized than rear ended. Therefore it’s less likely that they’ll ever have to pay you for anything.”

Perez narrows her eyes, apparently not wanting to concede that point to Jen.

“You know, if you won’t let me write you a check, I could still help you out without you having to pay out of pocket,” Jen says, moving back to her car. She pops the trunk, taking out one of the golf clubs she keeps in there for the days where it’s necessary to schmooze with the high end real estate investors. 

“Wait, what—”

Jen ignores her, walking around to the side of the car hidden from traffic. She raises the golf up behind her like a baseball bat before swinging it as hard as she can into the window of the backseat, shattering the glass.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Perez shouts, storming over to where Jen is now swinging a second time, this time right below the window to leave a dent. 

“I’m vandalizing your car,” Jen says. “Gotta get you that insurance money somehow.” She winks at the other woman before noticing how close she’s gotten in the quick chaos, her hand now wrapped tightly around Jen’s upper arm. She looks down at the hand before slowly moving her eyes back up to Perez’s face, definitely _not_ appreciating the way her chest is heaving, or the way her mouth is hanging open with rage, or how her eyes are slightly dilated…

Wait.

Is she turned on from this?

Jen flexes her arm a tiny bit as she adjusts her grip on the golf club, and watches Perez swallow hard in response.

 _Interesting_.

The two women stare at each other heatedly until a loud car horn breaks them apart as someone swerves past both of their cars.

“You can thank me later,” Jen finally says, her voice not as unaffected as she’d like it to be. “You sure you don’t want to exchange information? Or I can give you a ride home if you need it.”

Perez scoffs, finally pulling her hand back from Jen’s arm. 

“I’ll be fine. And I’m sure I’ll see you again, Jennifer.” She walks back around to the driver’s side of the car and pulls open the door, getting in the front seat and grabbing her cell phone from the center console (hopefully to call the insurance company, or at least AAA).

Jen smirks at the thought—she’s probably right. She starts walking to her own car before calling over her shoulder: “It’s Jen, by the way.”

“What?”

“My name. I won’t call you Ana, and you won’t call me Jennifer.”

The other woman looks at her for a moment before giving her own smirk in response.

“Well then, I’ll see you soon, _Jen_.”

* * *

**FOUR**

“Hi! Can I get a large hazelnut coffee with nonfat milk and a medium cinnamon oat milk latte?” A far too cheery voice chimes from behind the counter. Perez turns to see a tiny brunette clad in a floral dress and a tangle of necklaces that for some inexplicable reason makes her think of her ex.

“For here or to go?”

“For here, please. I just love the ambiance of this cafe. It’s really soothing,” she says. “Do you like working here?”

“Mmhmm,” Perez grunts. 

“Ooh, do you think you could do one of those cute little drawings on my latte, with the foam?”

Why is she still talking?

“No,” Perez says, out loud.

“Okay,” the woman says softly. Why does she look like a kicked puppy? Perez is _not_ in the mood to deal with this.

“Just go find a table and I’ll bring you the coffees.”

“Thank you so much! Are you sure you won’t want any help or—“

“Just go.”

She doesn’t look up as the woman finally walks away and takes the suffocating sunshine energy with her. God help the person who has to deal with _that_ all day. She focuses on making the coffees (if the foam on the latte looks a little like a leaf, clearly that’s just a coincidence) and then steps out from behind the counter with the two cups, looking around the small shop for the brightly colored dress.

Oh fuck.

Of course.

It’s Jen—Jen is with the too bubbly and annoyingly gorgeous brunette because of course she is.

Can’t Perez get any fucking peace around here? Is it too much to ask that the annoyingly sexy blonde she’s weirdly into and can’t stop running into _not_ be with another woman?

Not that Perez was going to make a move, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel an emotional claim to Jen.

That’s _her_ ambiguously gay woman that keeps ruining her day.

Well. No time like the present to get this shit show over with.

“Ms. Harding, how absolutely fascinating to see you here,” Perez says as she sidles up to their table with the drinks, making sure her voice stays flat and unaffected. 

Except at her words, the woman in question full body spasms, her arm colliding with Perez’s and spilling the coffees: all over her fucking shirt and work apron.

Fucking _seriously?_

“Oh fuck,” Jen mutters out, and—yeah, pretty much. She quickly scrambles back towards the counters and Perez can only hope it’s for napkins, although the smell of hazelnut will most certainly be following her around all day now, which is just perfect. 

So she’s left to stand here with the brunette woman who has the audacity to still be smiling. 

“Your wife spilled her fucking coffee on me,” Perez bites out. 

“Oh Jen isn’t my wife!” The brunette says, much too brightly. “She’s my platonic life partner, sure, but it’s not romantic.”

Platonic _what_ —

“Don’t worry, she totally has a crush on you too.” The woman gives an exaggerated (and poorly executed) wink as Jen comes rushing back over with napkins. 

Jen takes one look at Perez’s face before she turns to her _life partner_ or whatever the fuck. 

“Christ Judy what did you say to her?”

“Nothing!” Judy (as is her name, apparently—somehow very fitting for this woman who really does look straight from the sixties in the florals and relaxed smile) looks at Jen, eyes wide with faux innocence. “But you know, I’m suddenly not feeling well. I think I should go back home, get some rest.”

Perez looks back and forth between them, completely lost in the snap quick subject change, nearly as quick as her fast waning patience.

Jen narrows her eyes and Perez gets the sense that her patience is just as thin. “Alright, well then we can go home. I didn’t even want to play—“

“No!” Judy all but shouts.

What _is_ it with this woman? She has zero chill.

“I still think you should go. You can take Ana with you.”

Who the fuck told her—

“ _Judy_ ,” Jen seethes out, interrupting Perez’s thought. 

“We already paid for the session, you shouldn’t waste the money.” And what is with those doe eyes? How can Jen stand it? They turn to Perez: “How about it? Do you like tennis?”

Does she _what_?

* * *

**FIVE**

The tennis session is indoors (for the sake of air conditioning). 

Jen’s not really sure how Judy talked her into this, but Judy’s into all that chakra compatibility karmically balanced woo woo bullshit. Judy also thinks of herself as some infallible matchmaker and has the annoying habit of going into full wingwoman mode.

But really, Judy’s just pushing Jen to finally make a move on the grumpy, hot woman that she’s been inexplicably running into time after time. Judy insists it’s something like fate, or whatever.

And now Jen’s here, playing fucking tennis with the woman she almost burned with hazelnut coffee—which is only what’s happened _today_. 

_How fucking romantic_.

They lean their bags against a wall and Jen pulls out two rackets and a few balls; she gives Perez one of the rackets. Objectively, it’s the one with the better grip. Jen doesn’t want to nearly burn a woman with coffee and then immediately give her a wrist injury from a shittily gripped tennis racket. She’s no monster.

“I’ll keep score,” Perez says, surprising Jen.

“I didn’t know you played. You really think you can handle me?” Jen taunts, challenging.

“You don’t know what I can handle.”

Perez is wearing a shirt that reads: _Stay in your lane._ Her lips are set in a line, like she’s trying to go for the aloof confident bitch look. It might intimidate other people, but it doesn’t work on Jen.

Perez serves first. She throws the ball up, then swings her racket. The ball glides through the air like a hot knife through softened butter. Before Jen can sidestep to return it, the ball bounces on her side of the court and out of reach. _Fuck._

“Wha—How did you do that?” Jen asks. She picks up the ball and stares at it, as if it’s magic.

“It’s simple, Harding,” Perez replies, “I just hit the ball.” 

The flat line of Perez’s lips turns upward into a small, smug smile. She’s clearly enjoying this.

Jen’s never been this bad at tennis. Sure, she’s no expert, and she doesn’t actually know the rules, but every hit being a miss is just downright insulting. 

“Am I going too fast for you, Harding?” Perez comments, teasing. The sound of her voice makes Jen want to vault herself over the net to punch her or kiss her (or maybe both).

Perez moves across the court with grace. She’s speedy in her swings, even when Jen hits the ball at the weirdest angles. 

It would be irritating if it wasn’t so _hot._

“Forty Love,” Perez calls out. 

How the fuck did Perez get to forty points? And why does she keep calling Jen love?

Jen grips the racket tighter and grits her teeth, before bursting, “I don’t do pet names! And if you’re trying to flirt with me, you need to be more fucking obvious about it.” 

Jen’s arm muscles tense from the too tight grip. 

Perez rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze to Jen’s arms. She looks back up to Jen’s face and locks eyes with her. 

“Ice that wrist. You’re gonna need it later.”

And then Perez serves the ball. 

_What does she mean by that—_

_Oh._

By the time the ball gets to Jen, she’s swinging her arm like an ill-angled windmill and maybe it’s the hardest she’s ever swung something. The ball soars up into the air, nearly hits the ceiling, and then heads straight towards… _Oh no._

It hits Perez right in the forehead.

Perez drops the racket and her hand rushes to the site of the hit as her legs seem to wobble a bit beneath her.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Perez looks at Jen, “You know, you’ve got real balls to hit me in the face after you hit my car, stole my soup, spilled coffee on me, knocked me down on the sidewalk…” She lists the events on the fingers of the hand not currently pressed to her face.

Jen tries to make a joke, because really, their whole dynamic is like a slapstick routine.

“Just one ball, actually…” 

Perez glares at her.

“Okay, fuck. Shit, are you okay? The ball didn’t hit you too hard, did it?” Jen’s a little worried now. Perez hasn’t picked up the racket to keep playing; she’s just standing there, weirdly still. Bad sign. Jen runs to Perez’s side of the court to check on her.

Perez visibly winces, before mumbling, “Have you seen your arms?”

“What?”

“You have arms of steel,” Perez continues, quieter.

Jen laughs, taken aback, “Oh look who’s flirting now. Took you long enough—”

“I think I might have a concussion,” Perez interrupts with a blank stare.

_Oh shit._

“Fuck, what can I… what can I do?” Tennis is _so_ not her game. “I think I owe you one.”

Perez looks back at Jen and gives a small nod.

“Drive me home.”

* * *

**\+ ONE**

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Jen says as she half carries Perez into her house towards the first couch she can see. 

“Thanks. I shared it with my ex, but she left me. Guess my brand of lesbian was a little bit too intense for her.”

So, it’s become clear that the woman definitely has a minor concussion, and although she was at least able to direct Jen to her house, her words feel quite a bit looser than normal. Perhaps that’s why Jen responds a little bit bolder than she normally would as well.

“I guess that’s her loss then, huh?”

The two share a look—that, _I-know-we’re-both-gay-so-we-don’t-have-to-say-it_ , look.

Only then Perez _does_ decide to acknowledge it out loud.

“Your friend Judy said you have a crush on me.”

Jen chokes on the air around her.

“Wha- I don’t know why she would have told you that. I mean we hardly even know each other—”

“Maybe it’s because you have a crush on me? I know you were staring at my ass before on the court.” Perez raises her eyebrow at the statement, which, how she can still do that perfectly while concussed is beyond Jen’s guess.

“What can I say, it’s a great ass,” Jen finally responds. (Thankful that Perez doesn’t seem to have caught onto the fact that it’s also the reason Jen ever ran into her in the first place). 

The two stare at each other, tension palpable in the air until Perez visibly winces, seeming to remember the pain in her head. 

Fuck. Jen had almost forgotten that she had actually concussed the woman.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I guess I should try to eat before taking any pain pills,” Perez mutters, almost to herself. She looks up to Jen. “You could stay and eat with me?”

“Is that my penance for hurting you?” Jen smirks. 

Perez throws her own cheeky smile back in kind. “Maybe just this instance. You’ve still got a few others to make up for.”

“So what food are you in the mood for? I do have to warn you, though, cooking is _not_ one of my strong suits.” 

Perez drifts off in thought, then brings her hand to her stomach and frowns, “Ugh. I don’t think I could eat anything with flavor in it… Don’t want to test it. Do you think you can handle heating up canned soup?”

Jen smirks, before repeating Perez’s earlier words back to her, “You don’t know what I can handle.”

Perez gives Jen a little smile. 

“Which one do you want? Tomato?” Jen asks. Based on their little grocery store spat, Jen thinks she knows the answer.

“If you can even call it tomato,” Perez grumbles, “But yes.” 

Jen moves to the kitchen and finds the necessary can and pot ware, pouring the soup in and turning on the stove. She stirs the soup around idly and waits for it to bubble. As she waits, she peeks at the countertops and sees a french press, bags of whole espresso beans, and a jar of some weird off-white substance that seems to have a life of its own. Is that what a sourdough starter looks like? Karen had mentioned sourdough starters once, something about reddit and hobbies to pursue during menopause.

Steam starts to rise from the pot of soup. It’s nearly done.

“Ana…” Jen tests the name out on her lips. She feels like she’s earned it; she’s at the woman’s house and cooking for her. 

“Hm?” 

“Do you get into soup fights with all the lesbians in Laguna?” Jen jokes. Secretly, she wants it to be _their_ thing.

Perez lifts her head up from the couch. The look on her face is so soft. Jen freezes in place, ladle in hand, waiting for the answer.

“No, no… Just you. I’m glad it was you.”

Something in Jen’s stomach flutters. It feels a lot like hope.

She ladles out the soup, splitting it into two blue bowls she finds in a cabinet.

She whispers, “Yeah… me too.”

Minutes later, they’re both halfway through their soup, when Perez groans.

“Is it your head?” Jen asks, more worried than she expected she’d be.

Perez laughs and the sound of it is a relief.

“I know I said I needed bland food, but this is just unbearably bland. How do they get away with calling this soup?”

“It really is so fucking bland,” Jen agrees, joining the laughter, “We should sue.” 

“It’s like. Fucking tomato inspired water. This is the La Croix of soups.” 

Perez points her spoon at Jen. Bland tomato soup drips onto the table. 

“You… Out of all the possible soups, you had to take the one I wanted. This one doesn’t even go with my focaccia.”

Jen snaps back into focus at the mention of bread. “Focaccia?”

Perez stands up (just a bit unsteady), heads into the kitchen, and comes back with a big piece of bread on a plate. It’s so much more beautiful than bread needs to be.

“Go ahead. Try it.”

Jen bites into the bread before her, letting out an entirely too pornographic moan for the occasion. “ _Fuck_ this is so good. Where did you get this?”

Perez wiggles her fingers in response and Jen stares at her, open-mouthed until she clarifies: “I made it.”

“You made this bread? You bake bread?”

“I’m a cafe-owning lesbian, what else do you expect?”

Wait—

“You own that cafe? You don’t just work there?” Jen asks. This woman just keeps surprising her.

“Yup.” Perez smiles, clearly proud of herself. “I knead dough for a living, so clearly I’m good with my hands.”

Jen chokes again at the words.

What the fuck is this woman doing to her?

She takes a deep breath, trying to channel her inner Judy—Judy who is blessed with having a flirtatious nature and absolutely no shame. (And who would also absolutely be cheering her on in this moment: _Yes Jen! It’s been way too long since you’ve gotten laid. You better werrrk._ )

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” she finally musters out, pretending she sounds much more in control than she feels. 

“And what about you? You look like you do something fancy. Sommelier, perhaps?”

“I’m a real estate agent. I know how to give people exactly what they want.” Jen deflects Perez’s statement; says her words pointedly. ( _Yes, that can mean what you think_.)

“We’ll have to see about that,” Perez repeats the words back to her. 

They finish eating in relative silence, with Jen making appreciative noises about the bread the whole while. (If she embellishes a bit to get a reaction out of Perez, well…)

But finally they’re done, and Jen gets up to take the dirty dishes to the sink, ignoring Perez’s protests as she starts to wash them. Eventually she hears a series of grumbles and then the chair pushing back. Jen looks over her shoulder to see Perez making her way back to the couch to lay down. 

“My head fucking hurts,” she groans out. 

“Where do you keep your painkillers?” Jen asks as she finishes up the dishes, drying her hands on the dish towel below the sink. 

“Cabinet above the sink in the bathroom. Down the hall.” Perez’s eyes have fluttered shut, but Jen knows she shouldn’t be sleeping. She moves as quickly as she can, peaking first into an empty bedroom (which of course the woman has silk bed sheets, but that’s for a later discussion) before finding the bathroom and quickly finding some extra strength Tylenol. She grabs four, thinking it’s probably fine in this instance, and fills a cup that’s resting on the sink top with water before making her way back to the other woman.

“C’mon, no sleeping.” Jen kneels next to where Perez’s head is resting, gently touching her shoulder. “Take these.” 

She holds out the pills first and waits for Perez to take those and slip them into her mouth before handing over the water, pretending that their skin touching doesn’t feel like electricity all over because now is _not_ the time.

Although watching Perez’s throat as she swallows all four pills in one go is… definitely something that gives her tingles. 

“So, I don’t think I should be leaving you alone,” Jen states bluntly. “You’re definitely not supposed to sleep for like, at least eight hours.”

“Oh where did you learn that, your secret medical degree?”

Jen rolls her eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Why does she like this woman so much? She’s fucking infuriating. 

But she _did_ give her a concussion, so she just ignores the comment and stands up with a groan—her knees are not at all what they used to be—and moves to the other end of the couch, lifting up Perez’s legs and settling on the couch beneath them.

“Any movie preferences?” Jen asks lightly, pretending like all of this is completely normal.

Perez glares at her (albeit weakly, from the pain) until she finally answers: “No romcoms.”

Jen scoffs and nods because, obviously, and then grabs the remote from the table beside her to try some channel surfing. They’re sitting in companionable silence while Perez interjects a hard “no” every time Jen stops on a potential option until finally they settle on Paddington 2.

“I like the bear. He’s very kind.” Perez offers as commentary.

“Have you seen this before?” Jen asks, curious about this animated-bear-loving side of Perez.

“Five times.”

Jen raises her eyebrows in surprise.

Perez looks back at her, “What? It’s a perfectly paced film. No notes.” 

They’re an hour into “the best movie ever made” (according to pain pill Perez), when Perez asks a question.

“Can you unhook my bra? The underwire is killing me.” 

Jen gulps. “Like, take it off? Or just unhook it.”

Perez groans and the air in the room feels warmer all of a sudden.

“Just take it off. Please take it off.”

The _please_ makes Jen think of other things, other contexts that she’s now desperate to hear the word “please” in. 

“Oh… okay. Sure. I can do that.”

Jen leans across the couch and reaches down the back of Perez’s shirt as the woman turns to the side, trying to be as gentle as possible.

She feels Perez shiver and already her brain is playing a super cut of erotic moments that unfortunately can’t happen yet (curse you, concussions). Jen thinks that maybe, if giving head cured head injuries, the world would be a better place.

“Faster,” Perez demands. Jen’s being too cautious about it—it’s like she’s some insecure teenager again. 

Jen takes a deep breath and unhooks the bra, ghosting the skin of Perez’s shoulders as she slides the straps down. 

Her skin is so, so soft. It’s all Jen can think about.

Perez helps her out by pulling the unhooked bra out of her own shirt and handing it to her. 

When she hands Jen the bra, their hands touch. Jen almost gasps at the contact. _It’s been a while, okay?_

“And Jen?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Jen can only muster a nod in response.

It’s near the end of the movie when Perez starts drifting off to sleep. Jen nudges her every time she does, her irritation growing more prominent with every nudge.

“I’m not fucking sleeping, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s why your eyes keep shutting and your legs keep doing that little sleep twitch thing,” Jen bites back. 

“No they don’t.”

The two glare at each other before Jen finally comes to a decision (and maybe takes a chance). She pulls the pillow from behind her back and places it on her lap, before grabbing Perez’s arm and tugging her to sit up. She pulls the other woman closer and starts to guide her back down so her head is resting on the pillow on Jen’s lap.

“Now I won’t have to feel your legs anymore,” Jen says, trying to joke but it comes out entirely too soft.

“Hm. I guess this will do.” But she can see the light in the other woman’s eyes—Jen’s _definitely_ not the only one feeling this stupid crush. 

She starts running her fingers through Perez’s curls (which, holy fuck, they’re even softer than they look), lightly massaging her head as she goes.

“Mmm,” Perez moans softly. “Feels good.”

Jen may or may not feel herself clench at the sound, but this is still definitely not the time for _that_.

They continue to sit in silence as Jen keeps her fingers moving softly, watching the movie before them. Eventually she realizes that Perez really has drifted off, looking so much more peaceful and innocent without the tension (and annoyance) in her expression.

And she really is gorgeous too.

Jen hasn’t felt like this in a long time, but somehow she feels like maybe it truly is fate that brought her to this fiery, strong willed dream woman. (But she will certainly not be telling Judy that).

She moves a hand to Perez’s cheek and strokes it softly, trying to wake her up more gently this time—she really shouldn’t be sleeping, no matter how peaceful she looks.

“Perez,” she says softly. The woman’s nose twitches slightly at the feel of Jen’s fingers, but otherwise she doesn’t move. “Ana,” Jen tries again.

 _Fuck it_ , she finally thinks, and bends down, marveling at the perfect skin before her as she gently touches her lips to Perez’s own. It takes a moment, but she can feel when Perez wakes back up, her lips immediately responding to Jen’s; and honestly, they’re softer than belief. Jen moves her hand from Perez’s cheek, back into her hair, deepening the kiss for a moment before finally pulling back, certain her expression matches the dazed one on Perez’s face.

They stare at one another in some sort of wonder before finally Perez bites out: ”Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you keep calling me Ana.”

Jen laughs, feeling lighter than she has in a long time, and then leans down to kiss her again.

Maybe romcoms do make some points.

**Author's Note:**

> so... have we converted you yet?


End file.
